Ten years ago I was desperately trying to sink my teeth into my new Portland neighborhood. My old Portland neighborhood, where I had spent the previous 25 years, was 2,500 miles away and I was in a real sink or swim situation. Outside of a few rock and roll tours through Louisville in a past life, I knew nothing about Kentucky. Thanks to some Zillowing back in Oregon, I was suddenly the fourth owner of a pristine 19th-century brick mansion on West Main Street. The house was the most beautiful building I had ever stepped foot in, purchased for a fraction of the cost of my Pacific Northwest shotgun shack. This mansion was located a straight mile from downtown, and a half mile to the banks of a river, where apparently a lot of deeply important historical stuff happened. This was all I knew. I was hungry to learn more.
My wife was fulfilling her demanding residency requirements with the University of Louisville, and I was adapting to my role as a first-time father while adapting to my new surroundings simultaneously. I began each morning by strapping my 9 month-old son into the cab of my old Ford F-150, and driving us down every street of the stunningly beautiful and shockingly neglected West End. I had never seen anything like it before. Every block contained multiple boarded-up or burnt-out houses. Every alley contained mountains of trash. I discovered the UofL digital photo archive online, and I used this resource obsessively as a daily adventure guide, looking up addresses and then taking current photos of the locations with my phone, standing in the same places as the Caufield & Shook photographers stood a century ago. The then/now juxtapositions were mind blowing. I was in my late 30s, and my life’s education was just beginning.
We started most of these trips with coffee/smoothies at McQuixote’s, a bright spot in the rather foreboding Faulkner Gallery on 15th. As my son learned to walk, our new barista friends Mickey and Trevor let him stand on a chair to feed the fish in their massive tank, while his dad enjoyed a mocha and a quick peek at the current issue of The Portland Anchor. I knew I was in a special community from the very first moment I opened that paper.
It was through this humbly magnificent newspaper that I first read about places and events that would soon become a fluent language to me. I learned the names of people who would quickly welcome me into their family. There were several mentions about the opening of a new restaurant called The Table, as well as a couple articles about an institution called Portland Museum. Both were only a few blocks down the avenue. I grabbed my fish food-smelling kid and we were off. The Table was absolutely delicious. The museum was closed, and absolutely covered in poisonous vines.
This daily routine repeated itself for weeks, months, and then years. Portland was rapidly becoming a Promised Land of Biblical proportions to me. After repeated attempts, I finally got inside Portland Museum, and after absorbing every lovingly-crafted exhibit in the place, my curiosity about this sacred neighborhood expanded exponentially. The Portland Anchor also led me to my first Portland Now Inc. meeting, which became a monthly highlight. Everyone in that big Neighborhood House assembly room were like celebrities to me because of this Anchor newspaper.
There’s Larry (impressive ponytail all the way down his back!) and Kathie (most infectious musical laugh ever!) and John (more reserved, but never not smiling!), owners of The Table! There’s Nathalie, the stoic Museum director! There’s our esteemed councilperson Cheri! There’s multigenerational historian Brenda! There’s jack-of-all-trades developer Gill! There’s my favorite living writer PortlandNate! There’s my tall, longhaired doppelgänger Caleb! There’s Pete, Captain of the Belle of Louisville! There’s my Main Street buddies Gary and Judy! There’s “Town Geek” Richard! There’s Pops from Good Shepherd! There’s sweet Kerrie, Mary, Jehri and Sherry! There’s arty-looking Maria, who is running the Portland Art & Heritage Fair! I need to talk to her. I also need to get autographs from all these fine folks. These people were instantly my heroes.
Maria put together an amazing Art Fair that year, and she was eager to pass the torch the following year. I volunteered. In a recent former life, I was the last to volunteer for anything. I was content to inebriate my nerves onstage and try not to mess up behind the drums too much. But this was different, any effort I put forth into this community was rewarded tenfold in smiles, hugs, and delicious sweet potato fries. No inebriation needed. I wanted to pick up litter with Judy. I wanted to do vigilante street signage improvements with Gary. I wanted to do right by this place and these lovely people. This Portland was fighting the good fight and I wanted in.
My first attempt at running the Portland Art & Heritage Fair was an exhausting, exhilarating success. No one else volunteered to lead it, but everyone chipped in to help. We had bike tours, horse buggy rides, food trucks, Squallis puppet parades and workshops, open art studios, and musical performances. We even carried on Maria’s tradition of a Cornhole tournament. Most of all, I wanted to highlight the Portland Anchor newspaper, to spotlight this invaluable publication that initially fueled the fire. Gill introduced me to Gordon, the man he called his mentor. Gordon agreed to meet me in my Dolfinger art studio and we were off to the races. Gordon put me in touch with Sherry, the woman who constructed the whole paper singlehandedly each month. Sherry granted me access to the Anchor archives (most of which were stored in the Museum), and I scanned and enlarged 50 covers to poster size, and hung them around The Table for an Art Fair exhibit.
Gordon Brown would never say anything flattering about himself, so I’ll say it for him. A huge chunk of what people love about Portland (and Louisville by extension) simply wouldn’t exist without Gordon. He’s our Fred Rogers, if Mister Rogers was also a talented painter, community activist, and expert fundraiser. I told Gordon I wanted to work for this Anchor newspaper he founded. He told me I should try to work for Portland Museum instead; they might actually be able to pay me something. Like thousands of wayward kids of all ages before me, I took his advice and my life was forever improved.
So, thank you Gordon. Here’s to 50 more years of not only the oldest neighborhood newspaper in Louisville, but the best “Dam” publication on earth!
Love,
Danny
